Overcome Failure (poem)

Hold back harm, as we link arms, feed me light, and stay in sight. We're in danger, I'll make mistakes, don't push anger, and we won't break. Curves and curls, loops and rails: dusty paths and hidden trails. Keep me aloft, climb new heights. Stay warm and soft to comfort frights. Moving forward, I’ll have to roam, but with you on board, I’m not alone. I might slip, and even trip, skin might rip, blood drip drip drip. But as long as I have you to call, then I know you’re there to catch my fall. Soon we’ll have a perfect lullaby, with clear chords just ringing by. We’ll feel the marriage of a robot and a harp, eclipsing blindness, hear past the dark.

Chapter 2: Christoic (poem)

I'm weary, but I'm a fighter. Outlook's dreary, wishes brighter. My story wasn't so bad, but my demeanor's telling, it isn't glad. I was only seven, just a boy in church prayers heaven. My parents' bodies kept me alive, everyone suffered, everyone else died. Stained glass windows yellowed with noxious fumes, the altar like a hearthstone of fiery plumes. Gasoline, dynamite, explosions, and chaos. Loss upon loss upon loss upon loss. They stifled the encroaching fire, suffocated and shielded with parental ire. Jenny's eyes blocked out when dad huddled over my chest, grandpa's oxygen mask cradled by mom's breast.  Chaotic disorder, destruction, unrest. Desperation, crumbling walls, barred doors, screaming, melting, scathing, wailing. Silence. Cold.

I'm scarred, burnt, and walk with a limp. An orphan with emphysema heckled as "wimp". That demon's out there, I know who he is. I neither desire revenge, nor hope for justice, prevention is all I hope to accomplish. There's destruction in his wake, murder paves his path. I'm going to execute him, much is at stake if he unleashes his wrath.

Nibbler Supreme (poem)

You don't need to be told whose king,
see me on any one of my thrones.
My jumps, so high, and pounces, perfect,
vindicate how many humans I own.

My subjects work and toil daily,
as I lounge, laze, luxuriate, and play.
They clean me, groom me, kiss me, and feed me.
Chicken, beef, and fish... among other gourmet.

If I choose to demand it,
then they'll begin entertainment.
I'll show domination, rubbing their calves.
Then frolic with pleasure, or maybe just feign it.

Such kindness is undeserved,
these beings must constantly be trained.
They are okay at massages.
Keep me relaxed, and leave me unstrained.

Occasionally, I'll catch them a gift.
Maybe a spider or even a rat.
After all, they get to handle my litter.
I'm such a philanthropic, your excellence, your cat.

Son (poem)

I am the sun.
Awake, all-seeing, ablaze.
I look down on everyone,
and will continue to make days,
after the end of your days.

I am the sun.
You're creatures that energy plays.
Your story has but just begun,
my children of love, children of rays.
From dawn to dusk: with wisdom I raise.

I am the sun.
And know what your story's worth.
Your purpose isn't merely for fun,
or visceral greed capitalizing the earth.
So show respect and kindness to your mother, Earth.

I am the sun.
I will watch your story finish.
Space is nowhere to run,
you'll slowly, surely, diminish.
Then I'll be alone, dim, then shh...

Like you, I am mortal, I am the sun.

Hear No Lies (poem)

A lie we take to the grave
is one of which we never speak.
When truth's concealed in silence,
the blighted outlook's bleak.

But even grass grows on blighted land,
is it worth it not to tell a soul?
Death is dreary, weary, watery, silent,
darkness encompassing, everlasting, foul, full.

What does it mean when they say,
"The truth will set you free."?
I don't know, but I'll venture a guess,
that it will heal you and me.

Lies are fascinating in how we make them,
because the biggest are those we tell ourselves.
Incredibly taxing, terrible, troublesome, toilsome.
And when we don't believe, we wearily delve.

Your lies hurt us both equally.
And mine do the same.
I'm so sorry, you are too.
yet neither you, nor I, are to blame.

Great Mustache (poem)

Beside cigars rolling rings from lips, or grazing it with your fingertips... Hair so fine its surprising its man is finer. Color so on point. Do you use eye liner?But no, it's natural of course, and always soft, never course. Tastes and tinges of scotch and steak, smiles and sincerity show no breaks. What is handsome, just a dash...Dude, that's a great mustache.

Mother's Day 2015 (poem, anecdote)

Our love is deep,

our affections real.

Strength in family,

strength we feel.

2014,

a trying year.

We've held fast,

held what's dear.

Breath in spring,

fragrance of petals.

We'll land on our feet,

as the balance settles.

Swinging 60's party (poem, anecdote)

Hippies, swingers, dancers, and twisters. That was swell, groovy, fabulously far out! Snapping, clapping, jumping and jiving. It just makes me wanna shout!

Sara (poem, anecdote)

A powerful viking,
bodacious burlesque!
Much to my liking...
I will attest.

Beowulf's dropped jaw,
Shield Sheafson's toppled might.
They'd stare in awe,
at her voluptuous sight.

She's serenading Sara,
to say the least.
With hidden turkey,
let's have a feast!

Dear Danielle (poem, anecdote)

I always knew that you were nice,
since the night we met, rolling dice.

Soon, I saw you were intelligent and cool,
from the first and many shots of pool.

You told me of a haggis birthday,
and pronouncing "Edinburgh" the right way.

Scotland meant so much to me,
which you read alongside each **sip of whiskey**.

The ice cream and stout at Thimble Island's bar.
And the story of my forehead's scar.

If you leave New Haven, I won't be sad.
Because, somehow, somewhere, you're still rad.

May the composition of your necklace stay perfect.
Keep on striving Danielle, I know it's worth it.

Your viral smiles have done much for me,
alongside some southern hospitality.